


Happy Hours on a Thursday

by wanderNavi



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, copious belligerent cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 14:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderNavi/pseuds/wanderNavi
Summary: “The first problem, is that the military is too powerful and belligerent for any peace treaty to look real,” Dmitri slugged back another tanker of the cheapest beer money and poor decision making could buy.





	Happy Hours on a Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my writing notebook, and I have no recollection of where it goes. So.

“The first problem, is that the military is too powerful and belligerent for any peace treaty to look real,” Dmitri slugged back another tanker of the cheapest beer money and poor decision making could buy.

“_Fuck_, lower your voice, why don’t you ever lower your damn voice,” Nathan panicked, clutching his sherry. “You’re going to get us thrown out of this bar at best. At worst, your damn military is going to arrest us.”

Dmitri continued even louder over his drinking partner, “The second problem is that this country doesn’t know what a democracy is in the slightest. We only recently had a Parliament, but that hadn’t been in office for more than a term before the military drove its tanks all over its power. The Parliament didn’t have anything to do with that shit show in the East. That was all signed and directed by the fucking Fuhrer. Do you know who’s actually collecting our taxes? The damned military so it can pay for all those guns and alchemists.”

Nathan slid further under the table where everyone at the bar could still see him. “Why do I know you, why do I keep forgetting what drinking with you is like.”

“And the third thing –” Nathan sank his fingers like claws into Dmitri, yanking him back down from his attempt to stand up and let the whole bar undeniably know his opinion, “is that the stupid economy doesn’t have the brains or the sleaziness to take advantage of the whole mess, which is just a pathetic lack of entrepreneurial guts.”

“Fuck you Dmitri, I’m never going drinking with you again. I fucking hate you, you crazy bastard. We drink at home from now on.” The next morning’s hangover was already going to be bad enough without the state police pounding on their door to issue a heavy-handed warning, with half-half chances on a literal interpretation on heavy-handed. “God, you’re such an idiot. Bartender, another round, something that’ll help me lose my hearing. I need better plausible deniability.”


End file.
